The Priest shifted his eyes to the caravan itself. He made a note of the picks and shovels.
“You have the implements,” he remarked, “for grave digging. I trust you will not need to use them. Adios, my friends.”
He watched them until they disappeared into the woods with a sinister, self-confident smile like a spider watching a fly take the path into his web; a smile that gave him an expression strangely like that of the image itself. Before he turned into the hut again he gave several orders. Three of the brown men melted into the shadows after the caravan.
CHAPTER XX
In the Footsteps of Quesada
Once out of hearing, Stubbs, who had not spoken a word, broke out.
“If there ever was a devil treading the earth, it’s that man. I’ve tol’ Danbury so from the first. Ye can’t trust that sort. My fingers jus’ itched along the butt of my weapin’ all the while ye was talkin’. Seems though a man oughter have a right to plug sech as him an’ be done with it.”
“You’re prejudiced, Stubbs. I’ll admit the man is queer, but, after all, he is protecting his own beliefs and his own people. I don’t know as I would trust him any further than you, but––he is something of a pathetic figure, too, Stubbs.”